Free Liberty Bar by Georges Simenon Page A

customer
     you’ve brought here?’ The taxi-driver looked at him from head to toe, unsure
     whether or not he should reply.
    ‘Why are you asking me
     this?’
    ‘Police … Well,
     then?’
    ‘Yes, same one … He booked me
     yesterday midday, on a day rate.’
    ‘Where is he right now?’
    ‘I don’t know … He went
     off that way …’
    The man pointed to a street, then suddenly
     asked anxiously:
    ‘Hey, you’re not going to
     arrest him before he pays me, are you?’
    Maigret forgot to smoke.
     He stood there a moment quite still, staring at the taxi’s old-fashioned bonnet,
     then suddenly, struck by the thought that the couple might have left the hotel already,
     he dashed back to the Beauséjour.
    The baker’s wife saw him arrive and
     called her husband, who emerged from the back of the shop and came to the window, his
     face white with flour.
    Too bad! Now Maigret was having a laugh at
     their expense.
    ‘Room 7.’
    He looked up at the façade, trying to work
     out which of the windows with drawn curtains corresponded to room number 7. He
     didn’t dare celebrate yet.
    And yet … No! This wasn’t a
     coincidence … On the contrary, it was the first time that he had found a link
     between two elements of this case …
    Sylvie and Harry Brown together in a
     rented room near the harbour!
    Twenty times he was able to cover the
     hundred metres to the corner of the quay. Twenty times he saw the taxi in the same spot.
     As for the driver, he had come to stand at the end of the street as if he wanted to keep
     an eye on his customer himself.
    Finally, the glass door at the end of the
     corridor opened. Sylvie came out quickly on to the pavement and almost bumped into
     Maigret.
    ‘Good day,’ he said.
    She froze. He had never seen her look so
     pale. And when she opened her mouth to speak, no sound came out.
    ‘Is your companion getting
     dressed?’
    Her head swung this way
     and that like a weathervane. She dropped her bag, which Maigret picked up. She literally
     snatched it back off him as if she were afraid of nothing more than to see him open
     it.
    ‘One moment!’
    ‘Excuse me … I’m
     expected somewhere … You can walk with me if you like …’
    ‘I don’t want to walk …
     Especially not that way …’
    She was winsome rather than pretty,
     because of her large eyes, which darted over his whole face. It was obvious she was in a
     nervous state; her anxiety was making her breathless.
    ‘What do you want from
     me?’
    She seemed to be on the point of running
     away. To prevent her, Maigret took her hand and held it in his, a gesture that the
     bakers opposite might have interpreted as one of affection.
    ‘Is Harry still here?’
    ‘I don’t understand
     …’
    ‘Fine! We’ll wait for him
     together … Be careful! … Don’t do anything stupid … Let go of
     the bag …’
    For Maigret had made another grab for it.
     Through the silky material he could feel what seemed to be a wad of banknotes.
    ‘Don’t make a scene! …
     There are people watching us …’
    And passers-by too. They must have thought
     that Maigret and Sylvie were simply haggling over the price.
    ‘I beg you …’
    ‘No!’
    Then, more quietly:
    ‘If you don’t calm down,
     I’ll use the handcuffs!’
    She looked at him, eyes still wide with
     fright, then, whether discouraged or subdued, she lowered her head.
    Harry didn’t seem to be in any hurry
     to come down …
    She didn’t say a word, didn’t
     attempt to deny or explain.
    ‘Did you know him before?’
    They were standing in full sun.
     Sylvie’s face was perspiring.
    She seemed to be desperately looking for
     some inspiration that eluded her.
    ‘Listen …’
    ‘I’m listening!’
    No, she changed her mind! She didn’t
     say another word. She bit hard on her lip.
    ‘Is Joseph waiting for you
     somewhere?’
    ‘Joseph?’
    She was panicking. Steps could be heard on
     the hotel staircase. Sylvie was trembling. She dared not look